Autumn

Lichfield, Connecticut, October 2008, Photo: Malcolm Wren
Lichfield, Connecticut, October 2008, Photo: Malcolm Wren

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 73

‘That time of year’ involves both fruition and decay, flourishing and fall. The German word for autumn, Herbst, is closely related etymologically with the English word ‘harvest’, so there are always reminders of mellow fruitfulness alongside the forshadowing of the approach of the ultimate Reaper with his inevitable scythe.

Sometimes the tone is warm and the autumn song is a pure celebration of harvest, as in Salis-Seewis’s ‘Herbstlied’ (D 502) and Karoline Pichler’s city-dweller’s pastoral fantasy ‘Ferne von der großen Stadt’ (D 483):

Bunt sind schon die Wälder,
Gelb die Stoppelfelder, 
Und der Herbst beginnt. 
Rote Blätter fallen, 
Graue Nebel wallen, 
Kühler weht der Wind.   

The woods are already bright with colour
The stubble fields are yellow,
And autumn is beginning.
Red leaves are falling,
Grey mist is swirling,
The wind is cooler as it blows.

Salis-Seewis, Herbstlied (D 502)

Hebt der milde Herbst sein Haupt, 
Mit dem Früchtenkranz geschmücket, 
Aus den Fluren und erblicket 
Rings die Gärten, halb entlaubt: 
O wie laben dann den Gaumen 
Trauben, die mein Weinstock trägt, 
Oder blau bereifte Pflaumen 
Von dem Baum, den ich gepflegt!  

When gentle autumn raises its head
Adorned with the garland of fruit
From the fields, and looks
Around the gardens that have lost half their leaves,
Oh, how they soothe the palate
Those grapes produced by my own vine-tree,
Or the blue plums touched with hoarfrost
From the tree which I looked after.

Pichler, Lied (D 483)

More often, though, the delight in the harvest is tinged with a sense of loss and decay. This is intrinsic to Schiller’s complex ‘Klage der Ceres’ (D 323), an ambitious attempt to animate the old myth of Ceres, whose cereals are harvested in autumn at the very moment when her daughter Proserpine (a figure of fertility and new growth) has to return to the underworld. The newly ripe seed thus needs to be buried; only such a sacrifice can bring about another spring.

Wenn des Frühlings Kinder sterben,
Wenn von Nordes kaltem Hauch
Blatt und Blume sich entfärben,
Traurig steht der nackte Strauch,
Nehm ich mir das höchste Leben
Aus Vertumnus reichem Horn,
Opfernd es dem Styx zu geben,
Mir des Saamens goldnes Korn.

When the children of spring die,
When, because of the cold breath of the north wind
Leaves and flowers lose their colour,
And the naked straw stands sadly,
Then I take the highest life
Out of Vertumnus's rich horn of plenty,
Sacrificing it to offer it to the Styx,
What to me is the golden corn of the seed.

Schiller, Klage der Ceres (D 323)

For some conventionally pious writers the mood of autumn is parallel to that in a standard ‘evening’ or ‘sunset’ poem. Just as the setting sun is more a promise of a new day tomorrow (resurrection) than a symbol of death, so the end of the year promises a return of life and spring:

Ach traure, Teurer, traure nicht!
Des Grabes Dunkel schwindet,
Und himmlisch und unsterblich Licht
Glänzt dem, der überwindet.

Triumph! auf Herbstesdämmerung
Folgt milder Frühlingsschimmer.
Auf Trennung folgt Vereinigung,
Vereinigung auf immer!


Oh, do not mourn, dear one, do not mourn!
The dark of the grave will disappear
And heavenly and undying light
Will shine on those who overcome.

Triumph! After the dusk of autumn
The gentle glow of spring follows.
Separation is followed by reunion,
Reunion for ever!

Kosegarten, Idens Schwanenlied (D 317)

Needless to say, other poets were less hopeful, or at least they gave voice to doubts about comforting notions of resurrection. In Schreiber’s ‘An den Mond in einer Herbstnacht’ an old man looks at the autumnal moonlight shining down on the scenes of his youth and the graves of his friends and comes to realise that no light goes below the surface, into the grave where he is about to be buried:

Du siehst auch meine Freunde, 
Zerstreut in fernen Landen; 
Du gießest deinen Schimmer 
Auch auf die frohen Hügel, 
Wo ich oft als Knabe hüpfte, 
Wo oft bei deinem Lächeln 
Ein unbekanntes Sehnen 
Mein junges Herz ergriff.  

Du blickst auch auf die Stätte, 
Wo meine Lieben ruhn, 
Wo der Tau fällt auf ihr Grab, 
Und die Gräser drüber wehn 
In dem Abendhauche.  

Doch dein Schimmer 
Dringt nicht in die dunkle Kammer, 
Wo sie ruhen von des Lebens Mühn, 
Wo auch ich bald ruhen werde.
Du wirst gehn und wiederkehren, 
Du wirst sehn noch manches Lächeln, 
Dann werd ich nicht mehr lächeln, 
Dann werd ich nicht mehr weinen, 
Mein wird man nicht mehr gedenken,
Auf dieser schönen Erde.


You can also see my friends,
Scattered in distant countries;
You pour your shimmering light
Even onto the happy hills
Where I often used to jump around as a boy,
Where frequently, as you smiled, 
An unfamiliar longing
Took hold of my heart.

You also look down on the places
Where my loved ones are resting,
Where the dew falls on their grave,
On top of which the grass sways
In the breath of evening.

Yet your shimmering light
Cannot penetrate the dark chamber
Where they are resting from the troubles of life,
Where I soon will be resting!
You are going to leave and return,
You are going to see plenty more smiles,
But then I shall smile no longer,
Then I shall weep no longer,
Nobody will remember me any longer
On this beautiful earth.

Schreiber, An den Mond in einer Herbstnacht (D 614)

We don’t have to be old to be conscious of the proximity of death. Theodor Körner was only 21 when he wrote the horrifyingly prescient ‘Gebet während der Schlacht’ (Prayer during the battle), D 171. By the time it was published a year later the poet had died in a skirmish against the French occupying forces and their allies.

Gott, ich erkenne dich!
So im herbstlichen Rauschen der Blätter
Als im Schlachtendonnerwetter,
Urquell der Gnade, erkenn ich dich.
Vater du, segne mich!

God, I acknowledge you!
Just as in the autumn rustling of the leaves,
So in the thundery weather of battles,
Ultimate source of grace, I acknowledge you.
Oh father, give me your blessing!

Salis-Seewis explicitly combines the imagery of evening with the theme of autumn to remind us that we are now approaching the brink of the grave, the ultimate ‘fall’:

Abendglocken-Halle zittern 
Dumpf durch Moorgedüfte hin.
Hinter jenes Kirchhofs Gittern 
Blasst des Dämmerlichts Karmin.  

Aus umstürmten Lindenzweigen 
Rieselt welkes Laub herab, 
Und gebleichte Gräser beugen 
Sich auf ihr bestimmtes Grab.  

Freundin! wankt, im Abendwinde, 
Bald auch Gras auf meiner Gruft, 
Schwärmt das Laub um ihre Linde 
Ruhelos in feuchter Luft.

The echoes of evening bells are reverberating
But are muffled as they are carried on the moorland breezes;
Behind the fencing of that churchyard
The crimson light of sunset is turning pale.

From the branches of lime trees battered in storms
Dead leaves flutter down,
And faded leaves of grass bend down
Over her designated grave.

Friend! The evening wind will blow
Grass over my grave too very soon,
The foliage will blow around its lime tree
Without respite in the damp air.


Salis-Seewis, Der Herbstabend (D 405)

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